


Spideypool Bingo 2019: O4 Bakery

by ChibisUnleashed



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: And I hope you find it funny, Fluff, Humor, I had to ask for crowd help to get more puns, M/M, So I guess I should add a humor tag, So I'd like to thank the ROTG discord for putting up with me and giving me puns, So it's really just a fluff piece, The teen rating is totally to be safe, There's some implication/innuendo and some reference to violence but no actual deets, and I'm bad at puns, puns, reference to Squirrel Girl, so many puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 11:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20227006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibisUnleashed/pseuds/ChibisUnleashed
Summary: The local bakery is having a slogan competition. There is really only one way that Peter and Wade can respond.Whisk a bun full of puns.





	Spideypool Bingo 2019: O4 Bakery

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank the Spideypool Bingo 2019 organizers for all the work they do and for having me. <3

Peter hadn’t thought anything of it the afternoon Wade came home with a flier in hand. He didn’t say anything about it, so Peter didn’t ask. Dinner was almost ready anyway, and if he didn’t want the sauce to burn his attention really needed to be on that. 

The flier vanished when they sat down to eat together and Peter forgot all about it. Maybe Wade seemed a little distracted, but he was inserting all the usual comments into Peter’s tale about his day, so it wasn’t that odd. 

It wasn’t until they were  _ actually in bed  _ that it came up at all. Peter was half asleep, in fact, when he heard the sometimes terrifying words from the man beside him, “They have made a  _ grave  _ mistake.”

That sounded like somebody was going to die. Peter rolled over immediately and sat up, “Who? What? Wade.”

“The local bakery,” Wade shoved the forgotten flier into Peter’s hands and thank heavens for Peter’s reading speed and mental processing power because Wade did not wait for him to read it before he continued, “They’re having a competition for their new slogan. I submitted a pun, obviously, but look.”

The laptop on Wade’s lap was spun around so that Peter could see the ‘Thank you for your submission,’ screen. The cursor was hovering over a button along the bottom with the innocuous, but damning words, ‘Submit another?’

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes, Baby Boy,” Wade grinned and spun the laptop back, “I can send them  _ more.”  _

“They didn’t limit submissions.”

“They did not.”

Peter’s eyes darted back and forth on the bed sheet as he followed his thoughts through to their inevitable end, “This means war.”

Wade’s grin was frightening, “This means a  _ pun  _ war!”

-o-

The concept was all well and good, and Peter went to sleep dreaming up as many bakery-related puns as he possibly could. First thing in the morning, he submitted his first entry, and Wade sent him off to work with a kiss and celebratory high-five.

It was when he went to submit his second that the trouble started. 

“There. Pun number two in their inbox.”

“Maybe if you’re diligent and you wish  _ really hard,  _ you just might catch up to me,” Wade said from the other end of the couch. Suddenly he wasn’t at the other end anymore, and Peter had to emergency slide the laptop onto the coffee table to save it from the sheer amount of  _ Wade  _ that took its place, “What’d you send?”

“You doughnut want to miss this,” Peter said with some small pride.

“Oh,” Wade didn’t sound impressed. He sounded concerned and a little bit sad. “I already submitted that.”

“What? When?”

“Around lunch, today. I told you, I’ve submitted a ton, already.”

“Well how am I supposed to know what you’ve already submitted, then?” And Peter was mature enough to admit that his injured tone wasn’t just because he was left in the dark, here. He’d really kinda liked that stupid pun and he didn’t even get to see it make Wade smile. 

Wade actually looked a little lost when he shrugged, “I don’t know. Hack the bakery Google account and read all their emails?”

While that would be effective, Peter was sure there was a way to do this that would require less work. And less invasion of privacy. But mostly just less work.

He sighed, “But all of my cork boards are already taken up with fringe science theories.”

_ “No,  _ Baby Boy,” Wade said with all the weight of a thousand ages, “We can’t sacrifice the Pepe Sciencia boards. They must be preserved.”

Peter looked around for inspiration, “I guess we could start a list on a notepad?”

“Oh my God, get with this century already,” Wade groaned and grabbed his phone, “I’ll start a Doc and send you an invite. Who needs pen and paper, anymore?”

“Scientists,” Peter said flatly, “Mathematicians. Grad students. Conspiracy theorists.”

“The dredges of society, you mean,” Wade shoved Peter’s shoulder and simultaneously shoved himself off Peter’s lap, “Invite sent. So now, every time you submit a pun, you add it to the Doc. That way, we can check the Doc to see if the next pun we want to submit was already thought up by the other. It’s perfect!”

Peter was already taken up scrolling on the small screen, “Wade, there’s like, half a page here already.”

“Yeah, I submitted a ton.”

“I got that. What I’m wondering is if you actually did any  _ work  _ today?”

“I’m a merc.”

“Yes, and?”

“If I win the contest, that counts as work.”

Peter looked up from his phone to stare flatly at his boyfriend.

“No, it doesn’t.”

-o-

Three days later, Peter was glad to note that the contest only ran for one week. The Doc was full of painful gems such as, “Oh no you doughn’t,” “Naan stop,” “All you knead is love,” “I loaf you,” and a personal favorite, “May we croissant paths again.” It was at the point that checking through the list before each submission was causing physical pain, and Peter was loving every moment, but also glad to have the end in sight.

Wade was a challenging opponent. A veritable pun  _ master.  _

A full half of the time Peter thought he was being clever, he would find Wade already thought up his joke. That would be more disheartening if he didn’t know the full extent of Wade’s wit. Honestly, just  _ keeping up  _ was akin to winning. 

Especially since Peter had a real job and Wade was definitely dedicating eight hours a day to thinking up puns. 

“Wheat until you try this,” Peter sat up in bed, ready to grab his laptop and submit, but, “No wait, I sent that yesterday.”

Wade’s tired voice came from somewhere under the comforter, “I think you sent it twice.”

“No.” … “Did I?”

“It was in the Doc twice. I dunno, maybe  _ I  _ sent it, too? I’m pretty crazy. Maybe I sent it, too.”

Peter laid back in the bed and sighed, “This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

Wade snuggled under the blanket up against Peter’s side, “Art always is, Baby Boy.”

“Did you just-?” Peter let out his breath and shrugged, “Alright, I’ll allow it.”

“As if you could stop it.”

“If I really wanted to,” Peter looped an arm around Wade and rubbed his back through the cotton and batting, “I’ve stopped more nefarious things in their path.”

“Spidey,” Wade sat up solemnly, complete with fluff draped over his head and shoulders, “there is  _ nothing  _ more nefarious than a  _ good pun.”  _

“Deadpool,” Peter lifted himself up and stared dead into Wade’s eyes, “There is  _ no such thing  _ as a  _ good pun.”  _

Wade gasped like he’d been shot. Or like a normal person had been shot; Wade didn’t really make noise when he was shot anymore, as if the reflex had been beaten out of him by time and sheer repetition. It was actually kind of worrying, but what it meant right now is that Wade was perfectly fine, just utterly offended.

Then he tackled Peter to the mattress, and play fighting turned into play wrestling. Play wrestling turned into just play. And then the play turned into something a lot more fun than that.

-o-

“Best buns in town.” 

“Crust me, these’ll be good.” 

“You bake me crazy.”

“You butter believe it.”

“Doughn’t be afraid to take whisks.”

“All or muffin.”

“I only have pies for you.”

“Over my bread body.”

“I like big buns.”

Peter groaned aloud when he reached the end of the Doc, confirming that his new pun, “It’s the yeast we can do,” was, in fact, not already submitted. Good. And the contest closed at midnight, which, yanno,  _ hallelujah.  _

His creativity was tapped. His love for puns was stretched thin. He was almost ready to swear off puns for the rest of his life. Although, chances were, give him a week without and he’d probably be all over them again. 

They were doing a last minute sprint for the final. Peter didn’t have work tomorrow and Wade never had work tomorrow if he didn’t want to have work tomorrow, so they were stationed at the dining table with plenty of coffee and tea and cookies to keep them motivated while they thought up as many bad puns as they possibly could. Hopefully one or two would end up being good puns, but at this point any pun would do. 

Any pun at all.

‘Cake my day.’

Peter started scanning the Doc again to make sure that one was new. 

“Baby Boy, no matter who wins this, it has been an honor serving with you.”

That was… oddly sweet, and Peter was appropriately touched. Wade had also put a hand on his knee when he said it, so there was that. 

“You know, Red? Same. This has been fun. Exhausting, but fun.”

“Glad to hear it, Petey,” Wade smiled, one of his really cute smiles that made Peter want to cuddle him and watch Pillow Talk again, but then he followed it up with, “It’s over in ten. I’m kind of sad to see it go.”

“I’m not,” Peter said quickly, instantly, almost before Wade was done speaking because Peter was  _ very done,  _ thank you, “I’m ready to have my life back.” 

Wade scoffed and waved his hand in that adorably dismissive way he did, “You’ll miss it when it’s gone,” and then he got back to typing.

And Peter wondered about that, because yeah, Wade was probably right.

-o-

“They announced the winner! They announced the winner!”

Peter immediately turned the oven off and left the kitchen to join a bouncing Wade in the living room. Just watching him made Peter’s knees ache. Some days he was very jealous of those regen abilities.

“So who won, you or me?”

Wade scrolled through the email bulletin to the winning slogan, and read it aloud, “‘You cannoli live once.’ Well, that’s not one of mine. Yours?”

Peter’s eyebrows scrunched as he wracked his brain to remember. They had put together a rather  _ long  _ list, after all. “I don’t think so. Doesn’t it say underneath? Keep scrolling.”

Wade did, and then almost threw his phone.  _ “Of course.”  _

“Wait, who was it?” Peter snatched the phone out of Wade’s hand and read it for himself. 

Squirrel Girl.

Peter looked over at a pouting Wade with slumped shoulders, and shrugged.

“Well. She is  _ unbeatable.” _


End file.
